There's a Child Out Here, People. That's the Reality.

Join me on my journey through parenthood. BYOHelmet.

I can’t go in there December 30, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — aggieonboard @ 6:20 pm

Pssst…there’s a fully assembled car seat, stroller, and swing in Lenny’s room. They won’t stay in there forever, obviously, but I had to put them out of sight for now. For some reason, having a car seat in my house is freaking me out. Something about that little person transporter makes this all too real.

Tomorrow I am full term. I will have a baby in the next three weeks (since Dr. Doom won’t let Baby Bighead go past his/her due date).

Holy cow.

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No change December 29, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — aggieonboard @ 9:54 pm

Lenny’s still pretty happy, safely tucked behind my cervix and will remain that way until at least next week unless, as Dr. Doom so eloquently put it, “the baby decides to do some weird-ass thing and surprise us all.” I was slightly disappointed to receive the news that nothing had changed since I was awake for three hours last night with very painful BH contractions. I even had a few real contractions mixed in there. For the most part, from 1 to 4 a.m. I was attacked by my uterus with no mercy. Stupid ute. Anyway, the appointment was all together uneventful, except that he wants to do another u/s at 39 wks to check and see just how gigantic Baby Bighead is.

Mr. Aggie took the day off today, so we’re about to put together the swing that our fabulous Aunt  Lori sent. (Once he can stop liberating the world from…someone? on the PS3, that is. Priorities, people.) If we’re feeling really crazy, we may even get out the carseat and stroller. Get excited!

 

Because it deserves its own post December 28, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — aggieonboard @ 11:28 pm

Warning: This post will focus solely on the topics of poop and flatulence. You’ve been warned.

So we’re driving back home yesterday and I’m telling Mr. Aggie about how I’m still really worried about pooping on the table during delivery. Tearing? No problem. Bursting blood vessels in my eyes from pushing too hard? Bring it on. Having a little dingleberry slip out? Hell no. Sign me up for the elective c-section now.

This is, seriously, my biggest labor fear. It is followed closely by the certain mortification of flatulating on said table. That is a virtual guarantee, given the circumstances, so I’ve decided to dwell on the pooping delimma. Here’s how the conversation went down:

Me: I’m terrified I’m going to poop on the table, and that you’re going to see it.

Him: I’m not planning on seeing anything, believe me.

Me: Yeah, but in the heat of the moment you might peek and…

Him: And I’ll probably see blood and goo and who knows what else and come running back up where I’m supposed to be. In that situation, I probably wouldn’t even recognize poop anyway.

Me: Well I’ll probably, you know, flatulate too. And no one will be able to deny it or hide it from me or you, because it’s obvious. And stinky.

Him: That’s not true. Your flatulence smells like roses.

And that, internets, is why I married him.

 

Because we only have a few weeks left

Filed under: Uncategorized — aggieonboard @ 11:22 pm

I’m starting to realize that we’ll be parents in a few weeks. I’m also realizing that we’ll then be parents for the rest of our lives. That, internets, is some terrifying stuff.

I think that sobering train of thought is what led me to bust out all the games on the wii tonight, though Mr. Aggie made me stop playing tennis after I got a bit too “intense.” I was only allowed to play on a trial basis, and neither of us really thought I’d be able to dial it down enough not to maim myself. We were right.

Then I tried guitar hero, with significantly more success. Still, the giant belly made the guitar rest at an odd angle and the neurotic part of my brain (read: all of it) worried about random cancer rays invading Lenny’s house via the remote.

[Mr. Aggie just turned on his PS3 that santa brought him, and writing this blog just got harder. It’s much more difficult to come up with pithy comments when you’re in the middle of a war zone.  If the rest of this post sucks, blame it on the fact that my bunker just got hit with a grenade.]

Earlier tonight we went to a movie (saw Marley and Me, which no pregnant lady should do. It’s the new Old Yeller, and I was a sobbing, dripping mess by the end) and then to dinner. We’re trying to get out as much as possible between now and D-Day.

In some ways I’m really preparing for Lenny’s arrival. I’ve read my Baby 411 book cover to cover, organized his closet, planned what else to buy, etc. In other ways, I’m in complete denial. I haven’t washed a single item of clothing for the babe, nor have I begun to pack a hospital bag. We haven’t built/unpacked any of the baby contraptions (swing, carseat, stroller), either.

If Lenny were to be born tomorrow, we’d have to bring him home in a target sack and let him sleep in a dresser drawer. Speaking of tomorrow, it’s my weekly date with Dr. Doom. This appointment is much earlier (9:15) so I will spend less of my dad dreading it. Between the post-Christmas weigh-in and the invasion of my ladybits, I’d have to say it’s my most dreaded appt to date.

Update to follow.

 

Merry Christmas, Lenny December 25, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — aggieonboard @ 9:30 am

Dear Lenny, 

It’s your first Christmas in existence, but it doesn’t really count until you’re “here” and gnawing on people’s presents. Next year you’ll be almost a year old. The next year, if you’re anything like my brother, we may have to put a picket fence around the Christmas tree to keep your grubby hands off it. Good times. 

I’ve been awake since 4:30 this morning, after you head-butted my bladder ever so sweetly. Normally I could go right back to sleep, but this is no normal day. So like any nine year old, I was awake and alone from then until 7:30 when others started stirring. Christmas is a wonderful day in your family, you’ll see. First, we do stockings. Santa really takes care of us stocking-wise. I’m sure you’ll get the hook-up even more than the rest of us. Then, we have a yummy breakfast but you might have to wait until the next year to really enjoy it. 

After that–PRESENTS! Lots and lots of presents. I’m sure you’ll get lots and lots unnecessary, battery operated toys that light up and make obnoxious noises, much to our dismay. Then we have a fabulous lunch, featuring fried and grilled shrimp, and oodles and oodles of dessert. I think you’ll be partial to the chocolate pie, just like your daddy, since you seemed to love it so much last night.

So that’s what you have to look forward to, Lenny. At this point I can’t imagine what it will be like with you here, but next year I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to imagine it without you. 

Love,

Mommy

 

Well that wasn’t much fun at all December 22, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — aggieonboard @ 5:20 pm

WARNING: This post contains the word bunghole. Several times.

Remember that scene in Home Alone where everyone is running through the airport in a complete frenzy as “Run, Run Rudolph” plays in the background? That’s pretty much what it looked like when mom and I were trying to make it to my appointment.  We were a few minutes late, which is unforgivable in my world. I can’t remember the last time I was late for anything in my life by my own doing.

Anyway, we get there and my doctor’s office is running behind for the first time since I’ve been there. It ended up being about a forty minute wait, during which time two unsupervised toddlers tore the waiting room apart with squeals of glee. Their mom was there, but was completely oblivious to the distruction they were causing. It was so hard to restrain myself, but I knew that kids who behave like that generally have parents who behave even worse, so it wasn’t worth causing a scene.

Anyway, the nurse finally calls me back and presents me with the dreaded paper butt-coverer. She then mentions, oh so casually, that Dr. Doom will also be performing “a little test” in addition to the internal exam. Because I am dumb enough to care what’s happening with my pregnancy, I already knew what the little test would be. The GBS screening, for those of you not so fortunate to know, involves a q-tip (so far not so scary) and one’s bunghole. That’s right—q-tip in the bunghole.

I’d been dreading the test for months but I thought it was next week. Dr. Doom isn’t one to delay his gratification so I should have known he’d do it today. The results will be revealed at my next exam.

The internal sucked as much as I thought it would. The most annoying part is as he was feeling my unborn child, he was scolding me for not breathing. Who can be bothered to breathe when someone is probing your ribcage with multiple appendages?

All that just to find out that Lenny’s fine, everything’s sealed up tight and there will be no Christmas baby here. Close relatives seem disappointed, which I cannot understand. I’m not supposed to go into labor for another four weeks and I’m the one who has to carry the kid until then. If I’m okay, how can you justify being disappointed? I can only imagine the barrage of phone calls I will be inundated with as time goes on.

After being violated with multiple objects in multiple orfices (oh look, one last chance to say bunghole!) I think I’m due for a snack and a nap.

 

Here we go

Filed under: pregnancy — aggieonboard @ 1:01 pm

Funny, when you’re almost fully baked you can’t even say something like that without people’s eyes getting big and the color draining from their faces. Mr. Aggie and I have decided we need some type of code word/phrase for when it’s time for the big show so he’s not having heart palpitations every time I grimace.  I’m all about “Thundercats are go!” from Juno, but we haven’t decided.  Suggestions are welcome.

What I meant by the title is that today marks a new chapter in my OB care.  As of today’s visit (2:25 central time) I have to start going weekly. That’s no big deal. The part that I’m not fond of is that I no longer have the privilege of wearing pants during said visits. I’ve asked Dr. Doom if we can skip the internals for a few weeks, since they’re basically pointless. Since he likes to torture innocent pregnant ladies (and possibly kittens) he denied my appeal. He says he likes to make sure the baby is still head down.  I wish we could wait; I know I’m just going to be bummed for no reason if there’s no progress (which there shouldn’t be at this point anyway, but I’m an overachiever like that) or excited for no reason if the locks have loosened on Lenny’s escape hatch (even though it could stay that way for four more weeks).

My mom is coming to this visit, since she’s never met Dr. Doom. She felt the need to meet all my prom dates/boyfriends/lab partners so I shouldn’t be surprised. If you knew my mom, you’d understand why I’m a little skittish. Here’s an example that is burned into my psyche forever: at the eighth grade dance (an event of paramount pubescent importance), while my friends and I stood awkwardly along the wall, waiting to be noticed, my mom was in the middle of the dance floor. Surrounded by all the eighth grade boys. Teaching them to do the twist. I’m still traumatized.

Anyway, back to reality. I wish she had come to an earlier one (you know, where no one probed my ladybits) but there’s nothing I can do now. If I tried to deny her entry at this point she’d just stage (another) sit-in, and once the news crews gets involved it gets ugly.

In other news, Mr. Aggie made it home fine yesterday. He spent the weekend helping his aunt take care of her two little boys and she reports that he was an awesome fill-in dad. I had no doubts.

Now that we’re all up to speed, I’m off to run some errands with mom and then get felt up by a 50 year old man. I’ll be back later with another thrilling update.